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Just Back: A raging buffalo battle in Vietnam

A buffalo fighting festival in Do Sun of northern Vietnam

26 January 2016 • 12:00am

A track leads away from the highway into the jungle where a pit of bare earth gapes like a fresh wound. Several thousand people stand on terraces carved into the clay by excavators. All eyes are on the arena, which lies empty, waiting. The air is thick with the smell of popcorn and barbecued pork. Families gather with their boisterous broods, buying snacks from vendors who have set up shop on low plastic tables. It’s Saturday in the Bac Quang district of northern Vietnam and the water buffalo tournament is in town.

Men slide heavy wooden poles aside and two magnificent buffalo bulls are led into the public gaze, the numbers 18 and 32 chalked on their backs. I brace myself for the inevitable violence but – nothing. Officials, tiny from our distant perch, look foolish whacking the half ton slabs of muscle on their backsides, cajoling them to rage. Then – 18 nuzzles up to 32 and licks his neck. A roar goes up from the crowd. The announcer's voice rings from the PA system, shrill with excitement. This brotherly love is unprecedented. Five long minutes later something snaps and they lock horns.

An official launching the start of the annual buffalo fighting contest in Do Sun, Vietnman Photo: Getty Images

Thirty-two drives forward and, after a few seconds of resistance, 18 swivels to flee.

The next contest is pure fury. Number 31 bulldozes straight at number 48, closing the 20m gap in seconds. Forty-eight is oblivious to the snorting thunder bearing down on him. Just in time he lifts his head and two horn bosses collide, sending a shudder down the flanks of both animals. Now their thick necks are bent into the battle, the tops of their heads brushing the dirt. Hooves grind the earth as the initiative switches from beast to beast and the testosterone flows.

Thirty-one forces 48 backwards across the arena. An imperceptible shift of weight and 48 is on the offensive, regaining lost ground. Then, suddenly, 48 realises his opponent’s superiority and surrenders. He makes for the corner of the arena and hurls himself against the wooden gate, but there is no escape. Thirty-one smashes into his side and knocks him to the ground, legs flailing. A flash of horns driving into exposed chest. Men hurry to intervene, wary of being crushed, dancing to drape flags over the rampager’s head – taking the target from view, damping the murderous flames.

A buffalo ready for battle during a festival in Do Sun, Vietnam Photo: Getty Images

Thirty-one will fight again in a bid to win the 45 million Vietnamese dong (£1,400) prize. But, ultimately, all competitors share the same fate: skilful dissection with a butcher’s knife. Outside the arena, yellow chits litter the floor. The iron tang of blood rises from stalls where hunks of fresh meat glisten. Delicious, I’m told, and expensive at 280,000 dong (£9) per kilo. Down by the river lies a freshly stripped buffalo rib cage, massive, the white bones in stark contrast to the dark figures working on it, the muddy bank and the churning chocolate-coloured water.

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